The possibility of collapsing into a snowdrift along the side of the path was very real, although it was pitch black and I couldn't really tell if it would be a snowdrift, a ditch, or a creek that my body might fall in. I hoped if the worst did occur, the others in my group would notice that they were one member short and at least provide a proper burial. I had been struck with a cold the night before, and a three and a half mile snowshoe into our cabin was being complicated by exhaustion, throaty hacking, and more gear than would probably be necessary for the next two days. Pondering the options of who might recover my body, I popped in a new cough drop, put away the headlamp that had just died right when it was needed, and resumed dragging my leaden feet up the trail.
Other than the sickly shell of my usual self, our group consisted of my good friends Carl, Ashley, and of course my trusty four-legged outdoor companion Lex. We had left the truck parked at the Refuge Point parking area near Hebgen Lake at 5:00 that evening. Plans to leave earlier had succumb to the realities of real life commitments, packing, loading the sled, and making it to the trail head. The drive down the canyon had been a snowy one, and snowflakes continued to build up on our coats at a surprisingly fast pace. Darkness had long since set in, and our figures were silhouetted by snowflakes and a halo of golden light from Carl's headlamp as we worked our way into the mountains. Carl managed to break the sled I had rigged up to carry our gear in four times before we finally replaced the zip-ties with para-chord, and mercifully were allowed to continue our trudge ever closer to shelter.
I don't know what time we finally reached the cabin, the act of looking at my watch never occurred to my tired and sick brain, but it was sometime after 8:00 when we finally got the fire going in the wood stove and set about getting our dinner ready. Steaks were put on the fire, potatoes were prepared, and I got out my backpacking stove to boil some water for a round of well deserved hot chocolate. Unfortunately, my backpacking stove had other ideas. After years of flawless use in the mountains and canyons of the West, the stove decided that this was a perfect time to take a break, and refused to start without spewing gas across the table. We resigned ourselves to our fate, and proceeded to do our cooking solely on the single burner of the cabin's wood heating stove while entertaining ourselves with entries from the cabin's guest book. The story of Turd Ferguson, a turn of of the century mountain man who went crazy at the cabin, had been invented by some creative (or drunk) guest in years past and his ghost had become a common fixture in many of the entries.
Dinner was finally ready around 11:30, and we scarfed down delicious elk steaks and potatoes before washing it all down with some hot chocolate. Tired from our afternoon exertion (and my cold), we quickly got ready for bed and crawled in our sleeping bags. We woke up the next morning to clearing skies and fresh snow hanging in the trees. The storm had subsided sometime during the night (no earlier than around 3AM though, which I know because that was when I got up to pick up the wrappings of our steaks that Lex had found in the trash and shredded across the cabin floor...) and we were greeted by the sun playing across the slopes of the surrounding mountains. My cold had subsided some, and we took the opportunity to get our first good look at the cabin and its surroundings, even discovering a quinzee snow shelter in the back yard. Coffee was promptly prepared and pancakes were soon cooking in the skillet.
After eating our fill of pancakes we set about completing some tasks around the cabin. Dishes were cleaned, wood was split, the outhouse entrance was shoveled out, and water was boiled for the rest of the day. By mid afternoon we were finally ready to do a little exploring, so we donned our snowshoes and set out farther up the road. A leisurely mile long snowshoe hike brought us to the end of the summer road and the meadow known as Potamogeton Park. A sign proclaimed that the area was named after an aquatic plant that grows in marshy areas, leaving us wondering what exactly a potamogeton is, and, assuming the pronunciation was "pota-mog-eton," if the name was as Native American as it sounded. Later we found out that the word is actually the scientific name for pondweed, has it's origins in Greek, and is pronounced "potamo-GEE-ton." Yeah, we're three scientists... Oops... We did agree, however, that Pondweed Park just wouldn't have quite the same ring to it as Potamogeton Park.
Not quite ready to head back to the cabin yet, we decided the Sentinel Creek trail could use a little exploring, and took off down the trail following the remnants of an old ski track. We followed the trail for half a mile or so, crossing a creek and a couple hills, all of which were burried in a deep blanket of fluffy powder. After a quick photo opp, we turned around and started the trek back to the cabin. The hike back to warmth and shelter had been quite uneventful when, around a half mile from the cabin, Lex suddenly stopped in the middle of the road. I could tell he was intently focused on something right ahead of us, and pretty quickly realized it was more than just a person, dog, or even a deer. Lex inched his way up the road, and we followed cautiously, wondering just how worried we should be. He then proceeded to increase our uneasiness by suddenly turning tail and running around behind us before cautiously trotting back to the front of the line. After repeating this several more times and thoroughly creeping us out, he finally dashed ahead past whatever was lurking in the forest and waited for us to catch up. What sort of beast was hiding out in the recesses of Beaver Creek will never be known. Maybe it was a mountain lion, a wolverine, or maybe we had run into the mythical ghost of Turd Ferguson chronicled in the cabin logs. Whatever the case, the last steps to the cabin passed uneventfully, and we soon found ourselves stoking up the fire, getting out of our snowy gear, and putting on the water for hot chocolate.
Upon arrival at the cabin, Lex promptly claimed a comfortable spot on my sleeping bag, where he stayed most of the night until I kicked him off long enough to allow me to claim my spot inside the bag. The rest of us set about with dinner and soon had a couple leftover steaks, pasta, and bratwurst sizzling on the wood stove. Dinner consisted of pasta topped with Hawaiian bratwurst, peppers, onions and cheese finished off with a couple of elk steaks. Mountains of food quickly formed on our plates despite Ashley accidentally donating a substantial portion of pasta to Lex via the floor (that's what happens when all of the pasta decides to evacuate the container at the same time...). Stuffed with good food, we sat back to enjoy a relaxing night in the cabin and sip our final cups of hot chocolate. Sleep soon began to knock on the door, and we easily succumbed to the comfort of our beds and a well deserved nights sleep.
Our final morning at the cabin dawned cold and unsettled. A wind had picked up sometime in the wee hours of the morning and the trees swayed back and forth in rhythm with the gusts as pillows of fresh snow dropped from their resting places and sifted down through the boughs. Water was boiled for morning coffee and we soon found ourselves munching on cinnamon rolls baked in tin foil on the stove. A round of bacon was prepared to give us the needed strength for the hike out to the truck. The rest of the morning was spent getting the cabin ready for the next group and attempting to fit everything we had brought back into our packs and the sled. After splitting firewood, cleaning dishes and the cabin, and somehow conquering the Rubik's cube our packs had transformed into, it was time to say good bye to Beaver Creek Cabin and head back to civilization.
Sad to be leaving the perfection of the Yellowstone backcountry for the tedium of real life, we clipped into our snowshoes, hoisted our packs, and set off back down the road. The hike out to the highway was uneventful and relatively painless, and we were blessed with stunning views of the mountains that had been obscured by darkness on our way into the cabin. A brief but serious heart attack was had when I thought I had lost the keys to the truck, but I soon found them in my gloves (apparently I had taken them out of my pocket and put them with my gloves when I took them off, none of which I remembered at the time) and we loaded all of our gear and set off for Bozeman. After a beautiful drive through Yellowstone and Big Sky we stopped at the Coffee Pot for a desperately needed cup of coffee and slab of pie, and then it was back to our homes and couches.
Despite my cold, which came in for a second round upon my return home, the trip was a success for all. Beaver Creek Cabin is a wonderful gem, and is only surpassed by the beauty and magnitude of the mountains in which it sits. We left awed by the area, and hope to return in the near future. Who knows, with the way this year is going, maybe it will be tomorrow...
